


You really do flame amazement

by Elliot_the_Idiot



Category: Good Omens, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Ineffable husbands - Fandom
Genre: Aziraphale's Bookshop, Brief reference to period typical homophobia, Coup de foudre, Crowley loves Aziraphale, Crowley was the patron saint of disaster gays, First Kiss, I’m shit at summaries, Love Confessions, M/M, Mostly plotless, Poetry reading, Raphael!Crowley reference, References to Shakespeare, Sort Of, feelings without a plot, is that a thing?, it’s a thing now.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 17:23:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19407895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elliot_the_Idiot/pseuds/Elliot_the_Idiot
Summary: Crowley always assumed, as a demon, he was incapable of Aziraphale’s power to feel and sense love. Turns out he was wrong, and now he’s confused, elated, and mildly scared shitless.





	You really do flame amazement

**Author's Note:**

> See the end for notes

Aziraphale nearly tripped into the bookshop behind Crowley. The demon swiftly spun around and caught him, stumbling a bit before awkwardly pushing him back up. They were laughing carelessly all the while. Neither of them ever felt this free in a hundred life times, and they were drunk off it. Figuratively speaking. They of course planned to become properly plastered in celebration, as is tradition.  
Crowley plopped down on an armchair, draping his feet over the side and calling to Aziraphale in the back room.  
“You made Micheal miracle you a.. a towel?!” He confirmed in disbelief, the same awestruck half smile on his face all those years ago in Eden.  
Aziraphale returned with his best wine and sat in the other chair, pouring out two rather ridiculously full glasses. He glanced down modestly but clearly enjoyed the attention.  
“Really now my dear, I didn’t exactly spit hell fire in the face of an archangel.” he teased.  
“S’not like I actually hit him...” Crowley replied, “regretfully...” He suppressed a smile remembering how satisfying it was to wipe the smirk off Gabriel’s face, the anger he felt hearing “just die already!” Knowing it was meant for his angel. He stumbled in his thoughts.  
Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but gave that endearing look seemingly reserved only for the demon. (Of course it was, but so help them both who were none the wiser.)  
“The point is we should be left well and truly alone now.”  
Crowley looked on distracted. _His angel, yes that sounds about right, oh god it really does..._  
“Crowley?” He realized he’d spaced out and found Aziraphale leaning close to him, head cocked questioningly. The demon shook the revelation away and tried to recover through the tried and true miracle of booze.  
“To Adam, the world, and the bloody brilliant sods living here!” He shouted sporadically, downing his whole drink in one toast. Aziraphale raised his own glass more carefully but still in excitement.  
“To us!” He added gleefully. Crowley ran the gambit of nearly choking, recovering, then just smiling sadly as the angel tried his best to tip the glass back in one go. He ended up settling on a hardy sip.  
“Careful angel.” He chided softly.

Two whole bottles later, they weren’t quite at endgame drunk. It took way more for two non humans to be incoherent, but the amount was enough to be pleasantly warm and a tad loopy.  
They sat on the floor together, leaning against an impressive collection of poetry books and plays. The idea struck Aziraphale as soon as they sank down, and now he set to work tempting Crowley for the second time.  
“Crowley, just one? I’ll read one then you won’t have to hear anymore.” The demon loved when Aziraphale read aloud, especially poetry.  
“Absolutely not. I hate when you read aloud, especially poetry.”  
Aziraphale pouted slightly, a manner he’d have thought unbecoming and slightly embarrassing if not for the wine. He held his friend’s gaze with the ridiculous expression in silence while slowly pulling “Romeo and Juliet” off the shelf.  
“Oh for hell’s sake-” Crowley broke, unable to keep a straight face. “Oh alright,” he rolled his eyes, “just one.”  
Aziraphale clapped giddily and opened the book, inching closer.  
“You’re gonna pick the longest soliloquy in the play, aren’t you?” The demon declared casually. Aziraphale at least tried to look a little offended, averting his eyes and flushing slightly.  
“No...” he said suspiciously.  
“Good.” Crowley replied, relaxing into the shelf, “well get on with it.”  
The angel smiled and began.  
“Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face;  
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek”  
Crowley pretended to be aloof but held on to every word. He loved the lilt in the angel’s voice, dancing through iambic pentameter. How the consonance clicked softly into place, clear and precise. When Aziraphale began to lean further in, Crowley became acutely aware of what he risked, though the he couldn’t quite place the danger. He adjusted himself so Aziraphale could once again have enough room, and continued his well rehearsed act of “not” listening intently like the angel’s voice was the most endearing sound on earth, or heaven, or hell.  
“For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night.  
Fain would I dwell on form -- fain, fain deny  
What I have spoke; but farewell compliment!”  
By this point, Aziraphale has really started getting into it, making his friend laugh with the sincerity of the last declaration. Crowley couldn’t quite remember which monologue this was. He was fairly sure it was one of Juliet’s but was too distracted secretly enjoying himself to really question it. Taking a rare uncalculated risk, he leaned his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder.  
_This... this is probably ok. This isn’t weird.. nothing questionable here..._  
Crowley immediately regretted his decision when he realized exactly what part of the play Aziraphale was reading.  
“Dost thou love me?”  
He tensed slightly against the angel, praying rather ironically for him to not catch the shift. The demon sat perfectly still.  
“I know thou wilt say 'Ay'”  
_Oh god,_ he thought, _I would. I really would._ He knew it like he knew the truth of genesis. He knew it like he was there to bring it forth, except he wasn’t. It snuck up and caught in his throat, as if he himself wasn’t there when it was written. Centuries ago in a prison, decades ago in a church... days ago screaming at the same burning shelves, panic and fury clouding his grief.  
_Angel, I would._  
The epiphany struck the fear of... well, someone in him, and he sat up to promptly assume a less affectionate position. Aziraphale faltered slightly, feeling slightly hurt and missing the weight on his shoulder. Crowley turned away and felt his face warm, embarrassed he wasn’t at least a good enough villain to keep his emotions more in check. The angel continued.  
“And I will take thy word. Yet, if thou swear'st,  
Thou mayst prove false. At lovers' perjuries,  
They say Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,  
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully.”  
The more he continued, the more truth and a genuine message shone through, though Crowley still couldn’t let himself be tricked.  
_Aziraphale’s a wonderful actor, of course it’d be convincing, of course it’d appear relevant..._  
but the soft earnestness in his friend’s voice gave him pause, and he suddenly couldn’t help himself. He spared a glimpse at Aziraphale and was startled to find him glancing back, or rather.. keeping his eyes fixed on Crowley instead of the book. He chose to ignore this implication by focusing on another, interrupting as a distraction.  
“Good god of course you memorized it.”  
He rolled his eyes and laughed. Aziraphale looked back down at the book defensively. “No... I... ok fine, I had a lot of time on my hands, but stop interrupting!” He tried to suppress a grin.  
The break in the reading gave Crowley the strength to finish listening. He settled back and enjoyed the rest of Aziraphale’s incantations and careful words. He loved every second and hoped the angel was oblivious, blocking out that brief moment he obviously wasn’t.  
“Therefore pardon me,  
And not impute this yielding to light love,  
Which the dark night hath so discovered.”  
Crowley sat back up slowly, falling helplessly all over again. He wished desperately to not understand the final line, to be like most people who found beauty in the words but were blissfully ignorant of the meaning.  
_Just because my heart was so easily won, don’t think my love is at all fleeting._  
The demon felt strange. Crowley willed away the urge to find some kind of hidden sign where there couldn’t be,  
_but he looks so infuriatingly... cute._  
He cringed helplessly at the thought.  
Aziraphale gingerly placed the book on the shelf like the prized possession it was, returning to glance up at him shyly.  
“That’s it.” He said in a small voice.  
The angel gave a small nod of satisfaction and flipped to one of Ariel’s from The Tempest, simply enjoying the words quietly for himself.  
_I boarded the king’s ship; now on the beak,_  
 _Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin..._  
Crowley sat utterly defenseless as Aziraphale took his turn to lean against him. His white shock of hair in the soft glow of the book shop lamps was too much. Reading over his shoulder, Crowley grasped at a lifeline that went up in smoke days ago.  
_You really do flame amazement._

This couldn’t just be the wine anymore.  
He felt a surge of warmth in his heart and sat up abruptly, wide eyed, as if he was physically struck. It was entirely different than the seizing cold and discomfort of misery he was burdened with at every corner. Sometimes the pain was obvious. In the dark ages, it pierced him persistently with every wail of plague and famine, but other times it seeped in quietly.  
He remembered the fear and sadness settle in the London air on 1895, a thick and secret fog only he could seem to see.  
This was actually a rare occurrence when the demon and angel’s peculiar senses worked together. Crowley bared the weight of the anxiety while Aziraphale felt love from the same source, and they protected that love with all they had. Hell was none the wiser of the demon’s contribution.  
But this... this was entirely different and spread through him like wildfire. His thoughts stilled and all creation went silent, compelled only by the wave of affection.  
“Are- are you alright?” Aziraphale asked in concern.  
Crowley cupped his face, hesitating only slightly, and kissed him. It was impossibly quiet, lasting only a few seconds. He had almost no time to think, and Aziraphale had absolutely no time to anticipate, only registering what really happened when Crowley pulled away. They both stared at each other intensely in disbelief.

In these trying times of bewilderment, the no man’s land of near intoxication, they both defaulted to what each does best:  
Crowley stuttered, and Aziraphale invented at least three new facial expressions.  
He broke from his trance with an anxiety ridden “ngh-“ and was off the floor in a shot, pacing erratically  
“I, don’t, mmm- I’m sorry, I uh... I’m sorry..”  
The angel remained on the floor and watched his demon, pacing fretfully and stammering into oblivion. Astonishment melted away into quiet wonder and a slow growing smile.  
The same alien feeling rose in his own chest as he saw that Crowley blazed of it.  
Silent, warm, utterly beguiling...  
And familiar.  
He stood decisively.  
“Crowley.”  
“I- I never, I didn’t think-“  
“Crowley.”  
_“Angel, what’s happening to me?”_  
“Crowley!”  
Aziraphale grabbed his shoulders and held him steady. All but fire stilled as the fear in Crowley’s eyes fell upon him all at once.

_“I love you too._

They hushed together. Somehow, Aziraphale’s words evoked a calmness where Crowley expected lightning. He didn’t feel his heart would burst apart. Instead, he threw himself forward, and for once someone caught him.  
He felt it would remain forever, safe and whole, pressed inside his angel’s chest.

Crowley remembered how he fell, and some archaic name was ripped from him, still invoked by lost children and broken men.  
He knew now he never stopped.  
The fall in the garden, the fall in Rome,  
in the globe, in the church, in Tadfield, in the bookshop.  
And as Aziraphale lost his footing, amidst his wine, his books, and everything that made their home,  
They fell together.

**Author's Note:**

> • I wrote this with the idea that “love” is a tangible thing angels (and apparently Crowley) can physically sense  
> • Aziraphale is a raging theatre kid  
> • I know Romeo and Juliet is cliche, but it worked thematically so nyeeeh  
> • yes I threw Ariel’s monologue in there because it’s my favorite, fight me


End file.
